


Introducing Mr. Ellis

by Marmosette



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Mycroft at Cambridge, Polyglot, Swahili
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 04:21:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marmosette/pseuds/Marmosette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did Mycroft get like he is, and where he is? And what kind of people would it take to shape him? He wasn't born in a three-piece suit, and he didn't learn 20 languages just for a pub bet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Introducing Mr. Ellis

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Polyglot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/343436) by [Marmosette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marmosette/pseuds/Marmosette). 



> This isn't exactly a sequel to "Polyglot," because there's a certain lack of Greg, as you might notice. And yet this does happen after "Polyglot." There may turn out to be quite a few of these. And anyway Alexander Ellis is important.

Mycroft slouched low in his chair beside the window, his hands pressed together before his face. In deference to the bright sunlight coming through the window, he wore no jacket. His tie hung loosely, the top two buttons of his long-sleeved white shirt open, his sleeves folded back onto his forearms. The library was cool and quiet and peaceful and still. The other students were all out frolicking in the sunshine, chasing each other in their various ways. Later he might be expected at the pub, Peter Conway and the rest making their ridiculous wagers and practising for future alliances. 

Conway was, in general, amiable and entertaining. Mycroft appreciated his perseverance, and the way the other young man continually strove to surprise him, taking it as a personal quest to try to outwit him, seeking out his weaknesses and yet still able to set them aside at a moment’s notice. Mycroft had learned a great deal about himself and others from watching Conway scratching away at them, digging up new facets and information in his permanent quest to learn more. It was strangely restful watching someone else run about.

There was single soft _tick_ of china behind him, and Mycroft opened his eyes. He hadn’t been aware that he had closed them. Someone passed by his shoulder and took the chair opposite him. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Mycroft looked at him. A slab of thick brown hair flopped across the man’s forehead, heavy-lidded, smoky-blue eyes met his own in utterly polite and neutral inquiry. His nose had a sharp hook to the right, and he had a jaw that seemed twice as big as his long face needed, but there was a burning, needle-sharp intelligence in his expression, nevertheless. 

“What a lot of effort for English breakfast,” Mycroft remarked.

The newcomer smiled to himself and took a sip from his cup before setting it aside and settling into his chair, crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap. “I’m sure I could smuggle one in for you if you like.”

“No thank you,” Mycroft said calmly. “You’re Alexander Ellis?”

“I’m flattered, Holmes.”

“Mycroft, please.”

“Mycroft. Are you sure you won’t have a cup?”

Mycroft shook his head, letting his gaze drift to the window. “Pefectly sure. Besides, there is always a chance that someone else might come in and see. There could be talk.”

“Having tea in the library is hardly the makings of a scandal.”

“Surely that depends on one’s enemies.”

“Ahh.” Ellis settled lower in his seat. “And you have some?”

Mycroft laughed softly, his eyes still on the bright green grass outside. “Now why would you think that? I’m just like everyone else.”

“Don’t be so absurd. There isn’t a man within ten miles who would bet against you.”

“For what?”

“Mm. Public office, University Challenge, pub quiz...”

Mycroft snorted. “Flattery. I’ve no intention of participating in any of those things.”

“Never considered public office?”

“Office? No.”

Ellis blinked, picked up his tea again. “And why not?”

Mycroft looked across at him, weighing his words. “Public service, yes. But elected office, no. There is far too much maneuvering into position and shouting before one can achieve anything.”

Ellis smiled. “You make it sound like sex.”

“Do I?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “Well, well.”

There was a pause, and Ellis tipped his head. “Surely you’re not... I mean, none of my business of course.”

This was far too obvious, and Mycroft simply raised his eyebrows.

“Well. Clearly you do have a preference.”

“Do I?”

Ellis sighed, and studied Mycroft over his teacup, only looking away when he reached to set the empty cup back in its saucer. “You are a formidable man, Mister Holmes. Tell me, why did you learn Swahili?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Swahili,” Ellis repeated easily. “Why did you learn it?”

Mycroft blinked, blowing a slow sigh out as he turned back to the window. “It seemed the best way to communicate with people from eastern Africa.”

“And why did you need to communicate with them?”

Mycroft’s lips twitched. “I’ve done a certain amount of traveling.”

“With your family?”

Mycroft looked back at him. “You came to me. You sought me out. An undergraduate, not even from your college. I am aware of your campaign, and while I congratulate you on your success, it has nothing to do with me. Political parties have never been one of my ambitions. And yet here you are, enjoying an illicit beverage in the library and enquiring about my sexual interests. You’ve never even seen me before, so while it may be flattering, I hardly think you crossed the country simply to soil my sheets or quiz me on my travel plans.”

Ellis leaned forward as Mycroft was speaking, resting his elbows on his knees, his large hands joined loosely, dangling before him. Mycroft’s words were quick and clipped and businesslike, entirely at odds with his relaxed pose. “You have enough pull within your own circles to get you through a successful election. You have money from your family. You have power from your position. What do you need from a Cambridge undergraduate?”

“Intelligence,” Ellis said promptly.

Mycroft frowned, and pushed himself up in his chair. “About what?”

“Swahili,” he repeated. 

“You don’t need a translator.” Mycroft closed his eyes, pressing his fingertips together and concentrating. “You have access to translators, but you don’t want to use them. Are they lacking in skill? Decidedly not. It’s not what that can’t do, but what they can. Information being easily stolen, then. You want someone with a clean slate. Someone who doesn’t have anyone to pass the information on to, perhaps. Something shameful? Something dangerous? In which case, you already suspect things, and yet you’re willing,” he opened his eyes and focused on the man across from him, “to involve a young man you’ve never met before.”

Ellis smiled at him, possibly benignly. “I assure you, you would be -”

“...Perfectly safe,” Mycroft joined in, smiling nastily before looking away again. “How reassuring that is.”

“Dear me. I might begin to suspect that you are involved in things that might be a little suspicious, Mycroft. Your mind seems so willing to assume the worst. You’re familiar with the region, and don’t seem to have very positive expectations about it.”

“Shall I charge you a consultation fee? I’m not on your staff, after all, and if you’re asking my advice, or my analysis of the region...”

“Then I would be far better served having one of your tutors ask you, wouldn’t I?” Ellis said, leaning back again in his chair and straightening his jacket. “Far simpler.”

“Record it? Illegal.”

“Naïve,” Ellia shot back. “How would you ever know?”

“When my recommendations were acted on,” Mycroft said, the conversation gathering speed like a tennis volley.

“But as you say, I have other advisors.”

“Without my insight, or you wouldn’t be seeking me out.”

“Pride?”

“Realistic.”

“At which point the evidence would have been destroyed. Fait accompli.”

“Assumption.”

“You couldn’t undo what had already been done.”

“Clever enough to untangle the Congo, but incapable of handling a disagreement in my own country?” Mycroft let his voice slow, a smile brushing his lips.

“You’d take on your own government over recompense for a service that many would think should be freely - and _willingly_ \- given?”

“If the service has no value, why go to such lengths to seek it out?”

Ellis relaxed suddenly, grinning at Mycroft, shaking a finger. “You are a great deal of trouble and trickery, young man.”

“Thank you.”

“Vanity.”

“Hardly.” Mycroft’s response was instant, little short of angry.

“Now, now. I’m not your enemy. I’m not. I don’t imagine you have very many, but I’m not keen to be among them when you start collecting.”

Mycroft tipped his head - not quite a nod of acceptance, not quite a bow.

“Dare I be a bit presumptuous and say...friends?” Ellis held out his hand.

Mycroft only hesitated for an instant. He leaned forward far enough to take the man’s hand. “If you wish it.”

“Oh, I do. I can recognise quality. I understand you have a brother?”

Mycroft’s lips quirked, this time a smile of genuine amusement. “He’s a little young for you.”

“Good Lord, I’m not some kind of paedophile.”

“I assumed you would be interested in his mind,” Mycroft sighed.

“And I am. I understand he’s more interested in the hard sciences. Possibly a Nobel Prize in his future?”

“Where Sherlock is concerned, I make it a point not to be surprised.”

Ellis got to his feet, smiling, and Mycroft followed. He felt a little slovenly now, with his shirt and tie undone and his cuffs rolled back, but then he was a student, and this man with his tailored jacket and bright, flashy tie was a newly elected politician, and might easily have had a media interview scheduled today as well. It was even more disconcerting to find that Ellis was several inches taller than he was - a little over six feet four inches, in fact. “Well, this has been most enjoyable. When you have finished your studies, I’m sure you will have no trouble at all finding yourself a suitable position, but I would be honoured if you were to keep me in mind.”

“Very kind. I shall make it a point to remember you.”

“I’m quite certain you will have no trouble there,” Ellis said, giving him a knowing look, and moved past Mycroft toward the door.

 

“Been here all day, have you?” Pete asked, nudging Mycroft’s shoulder before plopping into the chair next to him.

“Yes,” Mycroft sighed. He glanced at Pete when there was no teasing banter in return.

“Thought I saw someone leaving here, earlier. Looked like that new MP, the one who squashed Morden.”

“Alexander Ellis,” Mycroft said absently.

“You saw him?”

“He saw me, at any rate,” Mycroft sighed, running a finger along his lower lip. “Thoughts?”

“Shark.”

“Mm. I’d agree.”

“What’d he want you for?”

“Oh, the usual. Future opportunities, that sort of thing.”

“Jesus, Holmes. That’s a bit steep, even for you.”

“I’ve no intention of going into politics, as you know very well.”

“Too small for you. You keep saying. Damned good thing you’re not interested in real estate or my father would have eaten your soul by now.”

“You know perfectly well that I have none,” Mycroft said with a smile and a glance.

  



End file.
